Dead Man's Song полностью

Tow-Truck Eddie’s wrecker glided along in the line of cars waiting to make the turn at the stop sign. He was three cars away from rolling right abreast of the big display window of the Crow’s Nest, and within his mind the voice of God did not speak in words but instead pulsed with an almost sexual rhythm, though Eddie did not relate the sensation to anything sexual. Instead he felt that incessant pounding in his brain and took it for the heartbeat of his own godly inner self, his Christ self, as it rose in a different kind of ecstasy—as it prepared for the slaughter of the Beast. The Christ about to confront and conquer the Antichrist.

Another car turned and he moved forward. He could see the window clearly enough, filled with tombstones and severed limbs, draped with cobwebs and hung with bats and spiders. Eddie’s lip curled in disgust at the pagan display. Such things will fall and the sinners be brought to understanding through blood and the Sword of the Lamb. Soon enough. A pickup truck made the turn and Eddie was now almost abreast of the store. He could see two figures moving around but there was sun glare on the glass and he couldn’t make out the features. Then the last car in line made the turn and Eddie moved forward again and turned full in his seat to stare. The angle was better and there was no glare so he could see that the figure on the left was definitely Malcolm Crow. He flicked his eyes to the other, certain that it had to the Beast in his disguise as a human boy. He squinted, picking out details. He could see that the figure wore jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. That it was not a large figure—about Crow’s size, who was short—but the face was indistinct. He shielded his eyes, leaned forward, even cupped his hands around his eyes to shield them from any sun glare. The clothes were clear enough but the face remained blurred, like a photograph when someone has turned their head at just the wrong moment. Eddie stared and stared and then behind him a whole row of cars began nailing their horns. Eddie jumped, frustrated and angry, and took his foot off the gas, but even as the truck moved forward and again the angle of light on the glass changed to an even clearer view, the face of the second figure in the store remained blurred.

Doubt sewed threads through his heart and he turned and drove away. In his head the urgent guttural chant had stopped completely and when he spoke to God, there was no answer. Frowning, Tow-Truck Eddie made the turn and headed out of town.

When the wrecker was gone, the Bone Man stepped from in front of the window and nearly collapsed, his hands falling away from the strings of his guitar. Perhaps if he had more substance, gravity would have grabbed him and dragged him down against the ground outside the Crow’s Nest. Even so, a wave of sick exhaustion flooded through him. He tried to throw up, but he was empty, just a shell, and he didn’t even have the benefit of that release. He was thoroughly drained. Since last night, when he had played his guitar in the night to try and soothe the terrible dreams that were spreading like a plague throughout the town, he had been weak. That alone had cost him, and all day he had tried to husband what little strength was left to him, to conserve what few powers he possessed. This last act of standing between the boy and the eye of the killer in the truck made him feel as if there was nothing left. He felt less substantial than a fleeting hope.

Yet there was still a faintness of a smile on his gray lips. The wrecker had moved on. The driver had not seen the boy. Somehow the act of playing his songs while standing in the way—in harm’s way for sure—had turned the killer’s eye. Maybe turned Griswold’s eye as well. God, he thought, please let it be so. Please throw me at least that much of a bone.

Weary and sick as he was, his smile blossomed and he looked down at the lovely curves of his guitar and knew something he hadn’t known before. Is this why I’m here? He wondered. Is this why the grave vomited me back into this damn town? To save this boy?

The Bone Man raised his guitar to his lips and kissed it, his eyelids fluttering closed.

Let it be so, he prayed. God…have at least that much mercy.

(4)

LaMastra stayed in the car while Ferro went in to the hospital to say good-bye to Saul Weinstock.

“Real sorry to see you go, Frank,” Weinstock said, and meant it.

The doctor was freshly dressed and neatly shaved, but Ferro thought he looked careworn. It was understandable. He said, “You’re about the only one who is. From your esteemed mayor’s reaction I was waiting for villagers with torches to drive us out of town.”